


Keep Myself Awake

by flawedamythyst



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-16
Updated: 2007-10-16
Packaged: 2018-10-16 08:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10567347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: After Dean makes his deal, Sam starts to dream of his death.





	

The dreams had started coming the second day after the devil's gate opened, while they were both still reeling from all that had happened. Dean wouldn't stop staring at Sam as if expecting him to stop breathing, and Sam kept hearing Dean's quiet 'one year. I got one year' whenever he looked at him. They were staying with Bobby, who Sam noticed occasionally giving Sam a milder version of Dean's stare. He wondered what it was like to see someone whose corpse you'd carried walking around again, and then tried his hardest to forget the thought.

_It was dark at the crossroads and hushed silence filled the cold, night air. Dean was standing in the middle and smiling at Sam, but the look didn't reach his eyes. He looked tired, as if he'd been running on empty for months, and his skin gleamed pale in the moonlight._

_"Take care of yourself," he said in a voice Sam recognised as 'I'm trying to sound fine, but I'm breaking inside'. Sam stepped forward to reach out for him but Dean was too far away, and Sam knew he was meant to stay where he was. He couldn't get too close._

_Dean noticed Sam's movement, and said, "I'm okay," a moment before the invisible hellhounds hit him, pulling him down, tearing his skin open, spreading blood all over the dirt while Sam could only watch helplessly._

Sam jerked awake, sitting bolt upright and looking straight over at Dean, desperate to reassure himself that Dean was okay, was still alive and with Sam, even as he realised that he'd seen the inevitable. Unless he could stop it, Dean was going to die like that.

Dean blinked sleepily at him from the other bed, obviously having just been woken by Sam's movement. "Bad dream?" he asked tiredly.

Sam shook his head and lay back down, his heart still in his mouth and adrenaline pumping through him. "Sorry," he said, uselessly, not sure if he was apologising for waking Dean up, for dying in the first place and putting Dean in this situation, or for the future, when he would apparently just stand back and let Dean get pulled apart. Dean grumbled something under his breath, turned over and fell asleep again. Sam lay awake for the rest of the night, wondering how he was going to just be able to let Dean die like that and what on earth he could do to prevent it.

 

****

 

The dream came back the next night, and the one after it, and again when Sam drifted off in the car halfway between Oklahoma and Washington. He stopped sleeping as much as he could, buying caffeine in any form he could get it just to keep himself awake, so he didn't have to see Dean die like that again. He tried to fake that he was okay for Dean, not wanting to worry him or answer any questions, but he knew he wasn't fooling anyone.

It took just over a week before Dean cornered him about it, waiting until they were alone in a motel room to ask him, "Dude, what's going on with you?"

Sam just looked away, a sick feeling in his stomach. "I'm fine, Dean," he said, because how could he tell his brother that he was watching him die in his dreams?

Dean made a disgusted noise. "You think I don't know when you're not okay?"

Sam sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. He could feel weariness slowing his thoughts, blurring the edges of his vision, and he wondered how much worse it would get before the year ended.

"Neither of us are okay," he said, tiredly. "There's a war starting, most of the people we care about are dead and in a year you're going to hell." That was enough to shut Dean up for a while, pursing his lips at the uncomfortable truths.

 

****

 

 

The dreams kept coming every time he shut his eyes for longer than five minutes, jerking him to wakefulness and making him reach for coffee just so he'd stay awake and not have to see that scene again. He felt like he had when Jessica died - afraid to sleep because of what he'd see. This time, though, he knew he was seeing the future. He knew that this was going to happen - he even knew when. There just wasn't anything he could do about it.

After Dean had told him that if they tried to break the deal Sam would die and that he wasn't going to even let him try, Sam had called Bobby about it the first chance he had. Bobby had, reluctantly, told Sam that it didn't look like there was going to be any way out of it, which really pissed Sam off. He'd been yelling that Bobby was wrong and there had to be something just as Dean walked back into the motel room.

He'd been furious, and told Sam that this was his decision and Sam had to butt out of it. The argument had descended pretty quickly into 'I can't let you die!' and 'You don't have a choice!' before Dean had bluntly said that if he caught any sign of Sam trying to meddle with it again, he'd ditch him and disappear.

When Sam had phoned Bobby back after Dean had stormed out, Bobby had agreed to do some digging of his own, but not been able to hide that he thought it was going to be a waste of time. Sam had had to hang up before his frustrated tears forced their way out, and he had fallen asleep before Dean got back, still clutching the phone as if it had all the answers, if only he knew who to call.

He'd been woken by the dream less than an hour later.

 

****

 

 

After a few weeks of trying to avoid sleep as much as possible, Sam felt more like a zombie than anything they'd ever hunted. He wondered if he had actually stayed dead when Jake had killed him, and was now stuck in some kind of fucked up limbo, sleep-walking through the usual routines of his life while Dean grew increasingly distant and spent more and more time out on his own. He was living it up in bars all across the country, away from Sam as much as possible as if he could somehow soften the eventual blow of his death by not being around so much before it. Sam couldn't really blame Dean for seeking out other company though - after a month of sleepless nights, Sam was barely awake enough to answer simple questions, let alone engage in intelligent conversation.

Increasingly, the only time he felt fully awake was in the dream. He could feel every part of his brain working then, see every detail in hideous clarity as Dean gave him that small, sad smile and then just let the hellhounds take him apart. He didn't even try to fight them off, just went down beneath them as if he'd never been taught to fight in his life. When Sam woke up, he wanted to shake Dean and ask him how he could just let this happen. _I'm tired,_ Dean had said, but how could he be so tired of life that hell seemed like a better choice? _I'm okay_ , said Dean in the dream, and what the hell did that mean? How did 'okay' equate with 'I'm about to be ripped to shreds and then spend an eternity in hell?'

Maybe there was something Sam wasn't seeing, maybe it was part of a bigger plan and Dean's apparent death was only temporary? Maybe Bobby would come up with something to save Dean that involved pretending he'd been ripped to shreds and somehow all the blood and injuries in Sam's dream were faked? That seemed a bit pie-in-the-sky for Sam to believe, even in his current, half-awake state, but he had to hold on to hope. He had nothing else left right now.

He mentioned it to Bobby, the next time they spoke. "Is there some way we can fake Dean's death - make her think she's got him, when she hasn't?"

"You think a demon would be fooled by a bit of fake blood and some method acting?" Bobby sounded incredulous, and Sam had to admit that, put like that, it was pretty ridiculous.

"Please, Bobby...if there's any way..." Sam could feel himself crumbling again, and he took a deep breath, trying to wipe the image of Dean's death out of his mind.

Bobby was silent for a long moment, then sighed. "I'll look into it, but...she's got her hooks into him. She'll know if it's not him, and she'll definitely know if he's not dead."

"Yeah," sighed Sam, rubbing at his eyes.

 

****

 

 

Dean let Sam get away with pretending he was fine for longer than he would have thought, merely giving him concerned looks out of the corner of his eye and frowning slightly when Sam started taking his coffee black in an effort to stay more awake.

Sam fell asleep in the car on the way from Portland to Idaho, and woke up with a sharp inhale after the dream played before his eyes again, tasting terror and panic in the back of his throat while he blinked around, trying to place himself back in reality.

"Right, that's it," said Dean abruptly, and pulled over on to the hard shoulder with a squeal of the tires.

"You want me to drive?" asked Sam, still feeling slightly muzzy.

Dean barked out a laugh. "Are you kidding? I wouldn't trust you with a tricycle right now, let alone my baby."

"Oh," said Sam, wondering if he should feel insulted. "Then why--"

"Sam, you can't go on like this," said Dean, his patience finally running out.

Sam shut his mouth and looked away. It wasn't as if he had a choice, after all.

"Look," said Dean, "I'm not stupid. Last time you were like this, it was after Jessica's death, and I know you've been dreaming again...doesn't take a genius to figure what you must be dreaming about. It's me, isn't it? You're dreaming of the deal."

Sam bit his lower lip and watched the cars go by. Dean sighed. "You need to get some sleep. Proper sleep, that lasts longer than a couple of hours. You're dangerous to both of us at the moment, when we're hunting."

"Don't you think I know that?" snapped Sam, irritated by Dean's apparent belief that he can just pull himself together and not mind that his brother was going to die. "It's not like I can tell my brain to stop waking me up."

"You could stop drinking so much damned coffee! Maybe give your body a chance to wind down," pointed out Dean, suddenly just as angry. "Or, hell, maybe even go crazy and take some of the sleeping pills we have at least three packets of."

Sam clenched his jaw and looked away again. "I can't."

"Sure you can," said Dean, "It's just you won't - you're too damned stubborn."

"Okay then," yelled Sam, feeling his thread-like control on his temper snap, "I won't! I'm not going to drug myself so that I'm locked in the nightmares and can't escape by waking up! It's bad enough that it's going to be real in a few months anyway - I'm not denying myself the chance to wake up while I still can."

It was Dean's turn to look away then, unable to meet Sam's angry glare. "You need some sleep," he said, quietly, after a few moments. "You can't go on like this."

Sam felt the anger rush out of him, leaving him feeling even more exhausted. "I know," he said, just as quietly, looking down at his hands. "But I can't. Dean, I just...I can't."

"So, what, you're just going to not sleep until I die?"

Sam flinched. He doubted that the nightmares would stop then. They hadn't when Jess died - just got more imaginative.

"Look, man," said Dean, sounding as if he was trying to be reasonable. "You gotta sleep. You don't have to take the pills, but at least lay off the coffee for a while, see if you can't catch a bit more shuteye tonight than you usually do."

"Dean--" started Sam, and Dean just cut straight through what he'd intended to say.

"Otherwise I'm going to slip you the pills in your coffee."

Sam sighed and admitted defeat. "Fine," he said. Dean nodded, and started the engine again.

 

****

 

 

He did manage a bit more sleep that night, and not just because he no longer had coffee running through his veins. When he jolted awake after a couple of hours sleep, Dean woke up as well. He got up and sat on Sam's bed, holding his arms, and Sam blinked blearily at him, still seeing his blood-stained corpse and feeling fear rush through him.

"It's okay," Dean said, and that was close enough to what he said in the dream for Sam to flinch. "I'm right here, I'm not gone." The unspoken 'yet' hovered between them for a moment as Sam pulled his mind fully away from the crossroads. He concentrated instead on Dean's grip on his arms, the warmth of his skin, the realness of having him close.

"It's all right," said Dean, "just breathe." Sam started to sit up, but Dean held him down. "You're not getting up," he said firmly. "You're going back to sleep. It's only three."

"How can I sleep after that?" asked Sam, and for a moment he was sure he'd only thought it, until he saw the look on Dean's face.

"You don't get a choice," said Dean. "Lie down. Shut your eyes." It was too hard to argue, so Sam did, but he didn't think anything would get him back to sleep that night. He lay still, waiting for Dean to move back to his own bed so that Sam could open his eyes again and see the dark motel room rather than Dean's death. Dean didn't move though, he stayed sitting on the edge of Sam's bed, hands still holding his arms, and after a while, Sam found himself drifting off again, his exhaustion winning out against his terror of having another nightmare.

When he woke up again, it was past dawn and Dean was fast asleep next to him, left hand still holding his arm.

After that Sam managed to get a bit more sleep each night, mainly because Dean berated him into it, then slept next to him, one arm draped over Sam's chest as if he could keep the nightmares away just by being close. Sometimes he could, sometimes he couldn't, but when Sam woke up in a panic, it was easier to get back to sleep with Dean beside him, reminding him that, for the present, it was just a dream.

 

****

 

 

Sam still called Bobby as often as he could, whenever Dean was off making the most of his time left by sleeping with as many women as possible. Bobby rarely had any answers though, just a list of sources he'd tried and books he'd read that hadn't helped at all. The months were slipping away, and Sam could feel their time running out.

"There's got to be something," he said, desperately. "You're not looking hard enough."

"I'm looking everywhere I can," said Bobby, practically growling, "But sometimes there just ain't a solution."

"No," said Sam, "No, there will be, somewhere." His mind was more awake now than it had been, but it still felt sluggish. "You said we couldn't trick her into thinking Dean's dead when he's not...is there some way we can let him die, then get him back? Surely the terms say that he only has to die and go to Hell - it doesn't say he has to stay there. Dad came out, right?"

Bobby was silent again, but Sam could tell it was his deep-thinking silence, not his I-don't-know-how-to-let-you-down one. "Maybe," he said at last, slowly. "We'd have to find some way to stop the hellhounds messing his body up too badly, and we'd have to work out how to pull a soul out of Hell without bringing a load of demons with it..." His voice trailed off, and Sam could hear him flipping pages. "I'll call you back," he said, and then hung up. Sam blinked and looked at the phone in surprise.

Dean came home from the bar earlier than usual, and frowned slightly when he found Sam sitting on the bed, still staring at the phone and wondering if a crazy idea like that would work, and if a plan that needed Dean to spend any amount of time in hell was ever going to be a good one.

"You all right?" he said, and Sam blinked, then looked up at him.

"Yeah," he said, and put the phone down. "You're back early."

"Yeah," said Dean, "Figured I could do with an early night." Which translated to _I figured you could do with an early night_ but Sam couldn't bring himself to care, not now he was feeling a faint hint of hope for the first time in months.

"Yeah," he agreed, "Good idea."

 

 

****

 

 

Bobby didn't call him back for a week. When he did, Dean was in the room with Sam. He'd started staying in again recently, and Sam wondered if he'd had his fill of bars and women. They were watching TV together, some crappy B-movie with a plot that made no sense, and which Dean had clearly seen several times before, but he seemed happy enough to watch it again and snark at the hero, so Sam didn't complain.

"Hey," said Sam when he answered his phone, trying to sound casual, although there wasn't much point. Dean knew all the people who might call Sam, and he was bound to ask about it when Sam hung up.

"I think there might be some merit in your crazy idea," said Bobby, without preamble.

Sam felt as if he'd been electrocuted. "Really?" he said, trying to hide the excitement in his voice. Dean glanced over at him, frowning slightly.

"He'd have to die," said Bobby, "but hellhounds don't really like chewing on carcasses, so once he is dead, they should leave him alone, and if we're lucky, there'll be enough of him left for a hospital to rebuild. The tricky bit will be getting his soul back."

"Yeah?" said Sam, trying to ignore the idea of a hospital trying to fix Dean up after a bunch of hellhounds had mauled him to death.

"We might be able to summon him...you're supposed to be able to summon anything that's in Hell, but whether that would bring him back as a spirit or if we could get him back in his body...it'd be very touch and go."

"Anything's better than nothing," said Sam. Dean was sitting up and staring at him now, ignoring the TV, and Sam knew he was going to be in trouble when he hung up, but he couldn't bring himself to care. If this was it, if they could make this work, he'd gladly put up with Dean being pissed.

"I'll look into it more," said Bobby, "But it's possible we won't know if it's going to work until we try it. Anything could go wrong - we could end up with a brain-dead body and a restless spirit, we might not even be able to get his body working again. Hell, we could just get a pissed demon on our tail."

"But it might work?" asked Sam. Dean looked as if he was going to explode.

"Yeah," said Bobby, "It just might."

Sam grinned, and Dean looked, if anything, more furious. "Then we should work on it," said Sam.

"I thought you'd say that," said Bobby. "I'll see what I can find out about summoning souls from hell."

"Right," said Sam. "Thanks, Bobby."

He hung up, and Dean wasted no time in asking, in a careful, controlled voice. "What was that about?"

Sam put the phone down on the bedside table. "Bobby just wanted to tell me something," he replied, trying to sound casual.

"Sammy," said Dean in a low growl, "Was that about my deal?"

Sam thought about lying for a moment, but he really didn't think he could pull it off. Dean knew all his tells too well. "Yes," he said. Dean stood up and strode violently across to the window. "I haven't been looking into it," said Sam, "I told you I wouldn't, but Bobby has. Dean, we're not going to try anything unless we're sure it'll work."

"Sam," said Dean, his voice still tightly controlled, "You could die. I'm not risking it! I told you that!"

"We're not going to do anything that might make her kill me," said Sam, "But not because I wouldn't gladly do that for you, Dean, but because I know you wouldn't want it. Dean, trust us, we're not going to--"

"You already have!" yelled Dean. "If she finds out--"

"She won't!" snapped back Sam, suddenly just as angry, "We've done nothing that she could argue about anyway - Bobby read some books! Bobby reads books all the time!"

"Sam, I'm not going to risk it! I told you that - I made a deal, and I'm okay with that. This is the decision I made."

"Yeah?" said Sam, "Well, I'm making my decision. We've got half an idea, and we're going to follow it up, see if we can't turn it into a whole idea, but it's not going to put me in any danger. I promise, Dean."

Dean shook his head, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He glared at the wall for a moment, then suddenly crossed back across the room to his bag and started throwing clothes into it.

"What are you doing?" asked Sam, suddenly worried.

"I'm leaving," said Dean, bluntly. "I told you I'd have to. I'm not letting you do this."

"No!" said Sam, "You can't!"

"Watch me," said Dean, pulling his knife out from under his pillow. "You can hotwire a car, easy, Bobby's is only a few hours away."

"No," said Sam again, "Dean, please."

Dean looked up then, and his expression was broken. "I've got to, Sammy. I can't stay here if you're going to mess around with this. If I have to go where you can't find me so that you don't kill yourself with this crap, then I will."

"Dean," said Sam, slowly, "I already know where this happens. I've been seeing it for months. If you run from me, I'll just meet you there." That was technically a lie - he didn't know exactly where the crossroads were that he saw in his dream, but he knew that he was there when it happened, so presumably if Dean left he'd be able to find it.

Dean's movements stilled, and he stood up with a sigh. "Sammy..." he said again, desperation tingeing his voice.

"I promise," said Sam. "I promise we won't do this unless we're sure nothing will happen to me."

Dean shook his head, and then sat down on his bed. "I can't do that again," he said, in a strained voice.

"You won't have to," said Sam, moving to crouch down in front of him. "Bobby thinks this might work, and he's not worried." Dean didn't move, didn't look up, so Sam put a hand on his knee. "Dean...you said you couldn't live with me dead. It works both ways. How am I supposed to just let you die, and then just go on afterwards as if nothing happened? As if it's not my fault?"

Dean looked up and met his gaze fiercely. "You tell me before you do anything," he said, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "You tell me everything, and I get to decide if you do it or not."

Sam hesitated, then nodded his agreement. "Yeah," he said. "Just...just don't go anywhere."

Dean gave him a shadow of his usual smile. "I couldn't leave you without someone to hold your hand while you sleep, anyway."

Sam smiled back, relief flooding through him.

 

 

****

 

 

After that, Sam started actually paying attention to the dreams, trying to see how the hellhounds were hurting Dean, whether he'd be able to be resuscitated afterwards. It was hard to try and watch it objectively while Dean yelled in pain and his blood soaked into the dirt, but Sam worked on not jerking himself awake immediately and tried to take mental notes so he could tell Bobby about it.

The dream became longer and longer until he was there even after the hellhounds had finished, and there was nothing left but Dean's broken corpse, limp and still in the dust. When he woke up, Dean was holding his shoulders so tightly that Sam could feel bruises forming.

"Sammy," he gasped, his voiced edged with panic, "Wake up!"

Sam grunted and opened his eyes. "I'm awake," he said.

"Jesus," said Dean, sitting back but not letting go of Sam.

"Yeah," agreed Sam hoarsely, trying to shake off the last of the dream.

Dean just kept staring at him, eyes wide and a little unnerving. Sam wiped a hand over his face and was surprised to feel dampness. Tears? "You wouldn't wake up," said Dean shakily, "you wouldn't wake up, and then you started crying and...I couldn't get you to wake up."

Sam winced and sat up. "Sorry," he offered.

"You don't--" started Dean, and then finally looked away from Sam. "Is it...is it really that bad?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Sam stared at him in disbelief for a long moment, until Dean was fidgeting and clearly regretting asking. "Dude," said Sam, voice suddenly thicker with more than tiredness and remnants of the dream. "You were dying. Of course it was that bad."

Dean abruptly sat back and let go of Sam. He disappeared into the bathroom and Sam sighed. For a moment he debated following him, but instead he flicked on a light and pulled out the pen and paper he kept by the bed. He wanted to make sure he didn't forget anything when he called Bobby.

 

 

 

****

 

 

They drove to Bobby's about two weeks before Dean's time ran out so that Bobby could explain the plan to him. Sam knew that if Bobby told Dean rather than Sam, Dean was less likely to assume it was a huge pile of crap, or get pissed and walk out halfway through the explanation.

He wasn't sure what reaction he was expecting from Dean, but he was surprised by the one they got. Dean sat with a slight frown for a few minutes, then said, carefully, "That is, without doubt, the stupidest plan I've ever heard." Sam frowned, and opened his mouth to argue, but Dean kept talking, "But...let me get this straight. If it goes wrong, the worse case scenario is that I end up stuck in Hell - which is kinda what I'm expecting anyway, or I'm a dispossessed spirit, in which case, surely you can do a salt-and-burn and I'll just go...wherever?"

Bobby nodded, and Sam found he was holding his breath. Was Dean actually going to go for this?

"And there's no way she could hurt Sam?" he asked, as if Bobby hadn't covered that twice already.

Bobby kindly explained it again without accusing Dean of not paying attention. "Nope. You'll have upheld your end of the bargain, and the contract will be officially over. She won't have any hold over either of you after that."

Dean sat for another minute, brow furrowed, then got up and walked outside without a word. Sam watched him go, then swung round to look at Bobby.

"He's right, you know," said Bobby. "It is the stupidest plan ever."

Sam shrugged. "If it works, it won't be stupid," he said.

Dean came back twenty minutes later, and grinned at them. "All right," he said, "Let's do this thing."

Sam grinned back, and had to fight the temptation to do a little victory dance, because Dean would never let him live it down.

 

 

****

 

 

They stayed at Bobby's for another day, but there were no real preparations to be done, and Dean was itching to get away. It was very possible that this would go wrong in some way, and Sam knew that Dean was almost expecting it to, so he didn't grudge him wanting to spend his last few days doing more than hanging out at Bobby's.

They drove for a day - just drove, with the windows down and the music up and Dean singing to himself and occasionally banging out a drum beat on the steering wheel. When they stopped, it was getting dark, and Dean dragged Sam out to a bar and got him wasted on tequila, and something pink that tasted strongly of rum.

When they got back to the room and collapsed into bed, Dean mumbled, "I'm so glad you're alive, Sammy," and then passed out.

Sam lay awake, watching the room spin and trying not to be sick. When he did go to sleep, the dream was just as clear and stark as it was when he was sober.

Over the next ten days, Dean took them all over, pulling up at the weirdest places. They went to a carnival and Sam tried his very best not to give Dean any more ammunition for teasing about his clown phobia, but failed when a particularly jolly-looking clown presented him with a balloon animal, surprising him into giving a startled shout ("Girly scream," insisted Dean.)

They made it all the way to the Grand Canyon, and Dean bought a tacky tourist photo of them standing together by the edge, Dean grinning like the idiot he was, while Sam tried to remember how to smile for a camera. Dean took him out into the middle of the woods, somewhere in Idaho, and they spent two hours hiking until they came out at a lake. Dean told Sam he'd been there on a hunt with Dad, then made him go skinny-dipping with him, splashing around like a kid until it started to get cold.

In Montana, he took them paint-balling, and together they single-handedly whooped the other team's ass, until the organisers started to give them suspicious looks, and asked them whether they were in the army.

By the time they got back to Bobby's, Sam was exhausted and on edge, wavering between hope and fear and so caught up in the images from his dreams that sometimes he thought he wasn't going to be able to keep breathing, because every breath took him closer to it actually happening.

 

 

****

 

 

It was dark at the crossroads and hushed silence filled the cold, night air. Dean was standing in the middle and smiling at Sam, but the look didn't reach his eyes.

"Take care of yourself," he said, and Sam stepped forward before he remembered that the plan involved him keeping away from the hellhounds.

"I'm okay," said Dean, and then the hellhounds hit him, pulling him down, tearing his skin open, spreading blood all over the dirt. Sam watched, his heart in his mouth, as they tore at him exactly the way they had in his dreams, and the minute Dean dropped to the ground, Sam was by his side, holding a dressing over the worst wound, the one on his chest, the one that was causing him to bleed out. Bobby was behind him, bringing the first aid kit. He took over the pressure on Dean's wounds as Sam started CPR, not daring to hope that Dean would start breathing again yet but needing to keep oxygen circulating through his system.

The ambulance pulled up what felt like hours later, and the EMTs took over, exchanging looks that Sam could read as _this one looks like a goner_.

"You have to save him," he said, desperately. "You have to do everything you can." If Dean's body couldn't be saved, the most they could hope for was to give his soul a peaceful resolution, and Sam couldn't live with that, couldn't let Dean die like this.

"It's all right," said the EMT. "We'll do all we can." Sam wasn't incredibly reassured. Bobby pulled him away and into the car as the paramedics loaded Dean into the ambulance and took off for the hospital, sirens blaring even though there wasn't another car around for miles.

 

****

 

 

Dean wasn't declared dead on arrival, and Sam felt hope begin to flare within him - maybe they could make this work. He was in theatre for ten hours and Sam hovered outside, his heart skipping a beat every time someone came out in case this was it - they'd lost him and Sam was alone.

When the doctor finally came out and told him that they'd got him breathing on his own, and patched him up enough that he had a chance, Sam's knees gave out and he had to sit down.

"When can we see him?" asked Bobby. They needed to do the summoning quickly - the sooner the better. The longer Dean's soul wasn't in his body, the more chance there was that it wouldn't go back in at all. Besides, time worked differently in Hell. Who knew how long Dean had been down there already?

The doctor hesitated, then looked at Sam's face. "As soon as he's in Recovery," he said, and Sam took a long breath.

 

 

****

 

 

Doing the summoning without getting themselves thrown out was harder than Sam thought. Nurses kept coming in to check up on Dean's progress, just as Sam was trying to draw the symbol out on the floor under the bed, or Bobby was about to set up the candles.

Dean was horribly pale in the bed and Sam was trying not to look too closely. He had enough images of his brother in hospital, close to death, to fill his nightmares for a lifetime. He didn't need any more.

Eventually, Bobby told the nurses that they belonged to an obscure sect, and were going to do a blessing over Dean. The head nurse seemed unsure about it, even after Bobby swore it wouldn't hurt Dean in any way, so Sam let some of what he was feeling show on his face for a moment.

"Please...this is very important to us. He wouldn't want to..." he let his voice break a little, "to die without us doing this for him."

Something in her eyes softened, and she reluctantly let them do it, on the condition that they let her stay in the room while they did. Bobby caught Sam's eye and shrugged. The ritual didn't really scream 'we're summoning something from Hell' unless you knew a lot about Latin or demonology, and she didn't really seem the type.

"All right," he said, "but...this is kinda sacred to us, so you'd have to stay quiet and out of the way."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Unless I think my patient is in danger, I can do that."

Sam nodded and turned back to Bobby, who handed him the chalk without a word.

The nurse was almost as good as her word, staying silent as Sam chalked out the symbol beneath Dean's bed, and Bobby used the tray table as an altar, setting up the bowl and candles. She frowned at the candles and started to object when Sam took out the matches and lit them.

"They're only going to burn for a minute or so," said Sam, tersely, and started chanting before she could kick up a fuss.

She started forward when Sam picked up the knife and sliced open his palm, but Sam was too busy concentrating on Dean to care, trying to will him back from hell with everything he had while he did the ritual. He was vaguely aware of Bobby shooting a glare at her, and then a wind whipped through the room, blowing the candles out. For a moment Sam thought he could hear a thousand voices all speaking at one, then it was gone and there was silence, except for the beep of Dean's monitor and the hustle of the hospital just outside the door.

"Bobby?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"I don't know," said Bobby. "We'll have to wait." Sam bit his lip and then nodded. He wasn't very good at waiting.

"If you're done," said the nurse, firmly, "I'd like to check on him."

Sam nodded again, and started to clear away the ritual apparatus. She glanced briefly at the monitor and then rested her hand briefly on Dean's forehead. "Well, you haven’t done him any harm," she allowed grudgingly, "and his vitals do seem to have picked up slightly."

Sam caught Bobby's eye and twitched his eyebrow. Bobby just shrugged. Sam felt lighter anyway - Dean was going to be fine, he could feel it. This had worked, and Dean was going to be fine, and the crossroads demon was out of their lives for good.

The nurse caught Sam's wrist suddenly, and he frowned at her. She examined the cut that he'd completely forgotten about, and then tutted. "You should get that looked at downstairs," she said. Sam glanced at it. He did seem to have cut deeper than he'd intended to. "Unless you need it to keep bleeding for some bizarre, religious reason," she added, sounding disapproving.

Sam pulled his hand back. "No," he said, "Bizarre religious stuff is all done with. Now it's all up to you guys." That earned him a full-on glare, which he ignored in favour of looking at Dean. Was it Sam's imagination, or did he look less pale? Was there something in his face that hadn't been there before - a spark of life, of Dean-ness, that had been lacking?

 

 

 

****

 

 

Dean didn't wake up for three days, although the doctors assured Sam that he was getting better. Sam tried to believe them, but it was hard to with Dean lying so still, looking just like he had after the car crash, when the doctors had said the opposite, that there was nothing they could do.

Sam stayed by Dean's bed as much as he could, only leaving to get his hand bandaged at the insistence of the nurse and to grab some food every few hours. He managed a few hours sleep each night, propped up in a chair, but he found himself jerking awake every so often, sure that Dean had slipped away while he was sleeping.

His eyes were dry and aching, and his head was thumping with exhaustion when Dean did wake up, blinking his eyes open slowly, as if afraid of what he might see.

"Dean," breathed Sam, something in his heart suddenly giving out as relief rushed through him. Dean turned his eyes towards Sam, and managed a careful smile.

Sam felt his grin stretch across his face. "Dude," he said. "We did it!"

A throat was cleared behind him. He turned round to see a pretty brunette wearing a tight black dress, and with glowing red eyes that gave away her identity immediately. Sam stood up, standing protectively in front of Dean's bed.

"You can't have him back," he said.

"He's mine, Sammy," she said, with a little smile. "Your little ritual was inspired, but it doesn't change the terms of the deal."

"No," agreed Sam. "But we didn't mess with the deal. You got what he promised."

She grinned, showing all her teeth. "You know, you've really wasted my time with this stunt. I warned Dean what would happen if he tried something like this - I'm going to take him back, and I'm going to take back what I gave you. I don't play well with deal breakers."

"No!" said Dean behind him, in a hoarse, pained voice. Sam didn't turn round.

"We didn't break the deal," he said, firmly. "You've got no right to anything here. He promised his soul, and you got it. It's not our problem if you couldn't hold onto it."

She snarled at him, and the red light in her eyes glowed brighter. Sam braced himself in case they'd figured this wrong and she could kill him, but nothing happened. She glared at them, frustration bright in her eyes, and Sam wondered if she'd only just realised how they'd tricked her.

"I won't forget this," she promised darkly. "I'll get you back for this."

Sam just grinned at her. "I'd like to see you try, bitch."

A moment later she was gone and Sam turned back to Dean, who was watching him with wide eyes. "Holy shit," he said, in a whisper. "You did it."

"Yep," said Sam, proudly. "Told you I would."

"Sam," said Dean again, almost in wonder, and Sam grinned in triumph, wanting to punch the air and do a little jig.

 

 

 

****

 

 

When Dean was finally let out of the hospital, Sam drove him back to Bobby's, AC/DC thumping from the radio. Bobby made them dinner, then they sat up playing cards. Sam sat back and relaxed, just happy to not have the deadline hanging over them. They both went to bed early - Dean was still tired and weak from his injuries and Sam could still feel exhaustion like a fog in his mind.

He slept for fifteen hours straight, and woke up unable to remember a single dream, feeling rested for the first time in over a year.

 

 


End file.
